


A Lesson Learned in Hindsight

by StuckInVertigo



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Human Bill Cipher, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Older Pines Twins, Post-Weirdmageddon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-01-06 22:27:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12220230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StuckInVertigo/pseuds/StuckInVertigo
Summary: Dipper found him under the statue.He’d taken to checking on it, when he’d travel back every summer. Always just to keep tabs, he swore to himself, and wasn’t it better to be safe than it was to be sorry?He’d wait. He’d wait for a sign of the old Bill to be there, hardly knowing why he was. He knew Bill wasn’t coming back, but yet; he watched the statue, and waited.Four years, he waited for a sign of something. When he’d worn his legs out from pacing, and his eyes out from watching, he’d trace the cuts in the stone, looking for something that wasn’t there the last hundred times. By the end of the first year, he was exhausted by his own self-imposed routine.He waited, but what he found wasn't what he thought it'd be.





	1. Cold Reception

**Author's Note:**

> I'd just like to try my hand at this. I love these two, and they're so much fun to write/draw. More to come!  
> p.s. feedback is welcomed and encouraged, as long as you're not being a dick about it.

It was the first snowfall of the year, in Gravity Falls, Oregon. Frost crept up overnight, strangling the flowers and the weeds alike, and mingling with the breath of every resident in the town. It webbed and cracked against the fogged glass, and shuddered against the foundations of the homes, trying to house itself in concrete and wood. The snow wasn’t powder as much as it was shards lain against each other in a fragile, heavy sheet against the ground. The ground was smeared with frozen mud, and stamped with prints from sandals and sneakers, tinting the almost white and melting it into cold slush that slipped off the rooftops and the spring-green treetops. It soaked through children’s shoes and t-shirts and froze the water in the spigots, still attached to coiled hoses.

It was the kind of chill that buried itself deep in one’s skeleton and gnawed on bone marrow, forgoing the pleasantries of being hosted by old joints.

It was an invasive need, characterized by the desperate, near-animalistic instinct to find warmth, to satisfy some insatiable hunger.

Or maybe that was the feel in the forest. After all, only the things living in the woods new the first snow would be in June.

The residents of Gravity Falls were, in relative terms, unsurprised. Some seemed a little ruffled by the prospect of having to retrieve their coats and boots from storage but were otherwise unperturbed by the conditions of the weather. In fact, it was almost unnatural how few people actually spoke of it; and how the one who went looking for answers came back with nothing to show for it but a sodden coat and a bleeding boy.

By evening, the frost from the morning had half-melted in the afternoon and had frozen again in a new vigor, leaving the undergrowth slippery and the trees frosted over. The forest had fallen into an early slumber, and the birds sleepily noted the seventeen-year-old boy crashing through the plants under them.

“Shit, shit, shit,” He hissed, half aloud, as he felt his legs buckle and wobble under the added weight of the bleeding boy. Dipper wasn’t in bad physical condition by any means, but the fear-induced adrenaline numbed the synapses in charge of remembering how running worked. The messages they sent instead were desperate attempts to comprehend too much at once.

It certainly didn’t help that he could barely feel his appendages as it were. The sleet soaked through the jacket he had thrown on, and the nighttime air froze the cloth to his skin.

The blond boy in his arms writhed and whimpered, smearing blood against the dirt stains in Dipper’s shirt. Dipper lugged him along as best he could, the smell of blood choking him through sharp breaths of frigid air. Dipper hung onto the boy just as much as he could, when he clung to his shirt with his bleeding hands, clawing into Dipper’s chest with his fingernails. He caught sight of the treeline, and stumbled among the underbrush, a new wave of itching pain shooting through his legs. The boy was bleeding badly, he had several wounds raking down his body, and a few gashes across his face, the blood running from them into his eyes and mouth and sticking --and clumping--in his hair. It ran along Dipper’s arms, over where the dried blood had cracked and started to rub off. It was all Dipper could do to pray that none of it was his.

Dipper broke past the tree line and stumbled into the clearing where the Mystery Shack stood, briefly glancing up at the outside window to his room. He called out Mabel’s name in a hoarse voice that he barely recognized as his own. He closed his eyes and braced one hand against the ground, wondering vaguely when he had fallen. The weight in his arms went limp and then disappeared. The last thing Dipper saw was the tattered skin that lay open, stretching from the boy’s left cheek, down his neck, and plunged down his chest.

 

 An indeterminate amount of time passed before Dipper came to. The slight shift in light was no indicator as to how long he had been passed out, but he was thankful for the darkness anyway.

“I’m awake. Fuck-- I’m fucking _fine_. I’m _awake_.” He choked out. He grabbed at his neck, feeling the soiled t-shirt collar, but no blood under his hands. His throat wasn’t slit, and he couldn’t hear that _goddamn_ laugh anymore--

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” croaked Mabel, pulling him into a hug. It warmed parts of him, but his blood still ran cold underneath clean clothes.

“Mabel, what happened?” Dipper ran his hands over his arms, taking inventory of what was real and what wasn’t. “All I remember is _blood_.”

She let out a sigh, rubbing at the circles under her eyes. She caught his eye and tried for a smile before answering. “None of it was yours.”

“That boy,” Dipper started, “He’s not--”

“Did you hear him scream, Dipper?” Mabel asked, her face falling.

“No, why--”

“Stan stitched him up. He came back, and by the look he gave me, I was sure he was gone.” Mabel sucked in a breath, before continuing. “I asked him what happened. He didn’t say anything-- just opened the door to our room.” Her eye contact with him didn’t break, but she grasped his arm tight and let her voice crack. “He was laughing, Dipper. He looked like he’d been tossed to the wolves, and he was _laughing_.”

“It smelled like copper. Like new pennies and sweat. There was blood everywhere. Matted in his hair, making the sheets stick, staining the mattress. Stan stitched from the middle of his chest, up to his face.” Her eyes broke away from his, and tears dripped down onto her shirt. “No human could be awake for that, much less be enjoying it.”

The floorboards creaked under Dipper’s shifting weight. Holding his breath, he listened. It was faint, but it was there, a strangled laugh that echoed right down into his ribcage. He ground his teeth, trying to suffocate the fear that threatened to choke him. He wouldn’t think about it, he wouldn’t _let_ himself think about it.

  
“Dipper," She whispered, "I think it’s Bill.”


	2. Cockroaches Would Be Preferable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill strips (Dipper's self esteem into pieces).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kind words and kudos! Much appreciated over here, this is the first thing I've cranked out in a while.

Dipper found him under the statue.

He’d taken to checking on it when he’d travel back every summer. Always just to keep tabs, he swore to himself, and wasn’t it better to be safe than it was to be sorry?

He’d stay, night after night. He’d rather dream of fire and stone and dream demons, and wake up with forest night dampness chilling him to the bone; than to risk it. Better safe than dead.

He’d sit all day, watching the moss creep farther up the side of the stone, keeping a lookout for something he barely believed would happen.

He’d wait. He’d wait for a sign of the old Bill to be there, hardly knowing why he was waiting. He waited as the bugs crawled along the underbrush until the buzz of them faded into white noise that he couldn’t hear. He knew Bill wasn’t coming back, but yet; he watched the statue, and waited.

Four years, he waited for a sign of something. When he’d worn his legs out from pacing, and his eyes out from watching, he’d trace the cuts in the stone, looking for something that wasn’t there the last hundred times. By the end of the first year, he was exhausted by his own self-imposed routine. By the end of the third, he was dulled.

He knew he had to leave Gravity Falls. It became a sanctuary in the way it hadn’t been years ago, the way he never wanted it to be. He wanted the excitement of being twelve again, everything being so new, so intriguing, so _mysterious._ He had compiled a list of towns like Gravity Falls, and spent the majority of the first weeks tying up loose ends and completing research journals in haste. He wanted to leave Gravity Falls as it was when he first came here, it had served him well, and he wanted the next poor guy to feel the same way he did.

He knew everyone would take it to heart when he announced he was leaving. He tried dropping hints about travelling, but Mable never seemed to get it. She would understand though, when he explained how restless he was being here, having nothing new.

Then the snow came.

Dipper ran to the forest as soon as he saw it. It didn’t matter to him that his sneakers had holes in the soles, or that he grabbed the first light jacket he could find, and was soaked in a matter of minutes. Deep in his bones, he knew something was wrong, and that if there were answers anywhere, it was in the woods. He felt excited for the first time in years.

He stood gaping for what seemed like a lifetime when he saw the boy. Passed out, ripped apart, he coughed up what little guts were still inside him. His blond hair shone with mud, his face and neck glistening with blood, he laid in the foliage that used to home the statue. It shocked him to see how young the boy was-- about his and Mabel’s age.

He still looked like that now, laying in Dipper’s bed, in one of his old shirts--too big for Dipper, but fit the bandaged boy just fine-- nearly half-dead. Cleaner, definitely, but no amount of cloth could cover what had been done to him. He was tucked under a threadbare comforter, shivering. His pallor was pale, and his clammy hands grabbed Dipper’s as he sat down next to the bed.

“How do I look, kid?” the boy rasped, cracking a wide, red grin.

“Like hell,” Dipper replied, his mouth working on its own accord.

“That’s, incidentally, where I came from!” he said, the inflection too familiar. Coughing violently, he clawed at his heaving chest. “Be a doll and help me get these bandages off. And as tempting as it is, try not to stab me while you’re at it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Dipper ground out through gritted teeth, reaching into his pocket for his pocket knife.

“If you did, I’d know,” Bill said, with a wink. Dipper ignored him, lifted his shirt, and cut through the bandages on his chest, careful not to nick him. _Like it’d matter anyway,_ he thought, eyeing the wounds. He traced one with his thumb, down his left cheek, stopping midway in his chest. The sight of Bill left a bitter taste in his mouth, but the guilt churning his stomach and guiding his hand kept him from further harming his patient.

“You came back,” Dipper said, flatly.

“Admit it, you missed me,” Bill teased. Dipper said nothing. “Well,” Bill continued, “I _would_ have missed you, if you hadn’t been hovering over my grave for the last _four years._ You were _great_ company to have, rubbing my defeat in my, cold, stony face! You were _alive,_ and I was a _shell_ of what I once was, worse that before! I couldn’t sleep a _wink_ with your _infuriating_ talk about your pathetic, insignificant, human--” Bill gasped, and having heaved himself upright during his spiel, arched his back and coughed up mucus and blood. “Look at me!” he hissed, his eyes rimmed with red and framed with purple and blue bruises. “This is _your fault._ ”

“You heard everything I said?” Dipper asked, in a small voice. Bill smiled then. A cold wave of adrenaline swept into Dipper’s bloodstream. His glassy, grey eyes shone with a fraction of ferocity that they once did, but the expression on the young boy’s face was nothing short of terrifying.

“Everything,” Bill said, grinning like the cat with the canary. “It scares you, doesn’t it?” His smile got wider. “You thought you were the only one who would know, didn’t you?” He grabbed at Dipper’s arm, and pulled him close. Licking his lips, he whispered against the shell of his ear, “Does your sweet sister know?”

Dipper swallowed, looking down at Bill as best he could-- he was a few inches too short to be intimidating-- and spoke out through the heart in his throat, “Tell me what you came back for, Bill.”

“And if I don’t?” Bill whispered back, tilting his head but refusing to break eye contact. “You don’t have anything to hold over me, I’m afraid.” Dipper tore his gaze away from the stitches holding together the sliced skin above Bill’s nose bridge, and clutched the pocketknife in his jeans. “You know I’m right, sapling.” he said, hushed, eyes shining “Death means nothing to the lifeless.”

“Tell me why you’re here, Bill. It’s not a question.”

“It’s still a request, and any way you slice it, you still need something from me.”

“I’d say you need me more than I need you,” A bluff, but Dipper had gotten good at lying. Bill hesitated. Was it true?

“Look, kid. I’m in bad shape here. Fact is, I was miserable sitting as a stone statue with nothing but a scrawny know-it-all for company. But that was simple, slow torture compared to this!”

“At least there’s something worse than having me for company,” Dipper grumbled.

“I couldn’t believe it either!” Bill hollered. “I’ve been used as a powerhouse before, but what this guy’s asking, it goes against everything I am!”

“Wait, wait, you mean, like a battery?” Dipper asked, raking a hand through his hair.

“Not exactly, kid.” Bill sighed. Dipper wished he’d stop calling him that. “A battery has one use. You charge it, drain it, and charge it again. That’s about all you can do with it. It’s a storage unit. Lesser demons, hell, your Uncle Ford’s used _tons_ of them for batteries! Sometimes a summoning requires it,” he added, for Dipper’s benefit. He appreciated the explanation, but it didn’t make him feel better. “Anyway, you _could_ use yours truly as such, but for most rituals, it’d be like powering a Nintendo DS with a nuclear power plant. In other words, redundant. And insulting.  

“Now, if you wanted to get _real_ use out of me, you make a deal. Most poor suckers do,” he flashed a grin towards Dipper. “Often times, it puts me in a good position, and the other guy at least won’t die until the deal is completed or becomes void.”

“You can void contracts?” Dipper asked.

“It’s not like that, kid,” Bill shook his head, “It’s not something _I_ decide.”

“How does it work--”

“Not important. Regardless, that can’t happen this time around.” Dipper opened his mouth. “And before you ask, no, I can’t disclose the exact details of the contract.” Bill grinned as Dipper bit his lip in thought, “But I can tell you this, he _is_ using me as storage, in a way. Sort of a vacuum for my own kind of energy, if you will. Making me suck myself out of Gravity Falls. Extinguish the flame that was Bill Cipher.” He offered a sidelong look at Dipper.

“You’re why it’s snowing.” Dipper said, in awe.

“If it was a three-headed lizard with razors for teeth, it’d bite ya,” Bill whistled.

“The lack of you is why it’s snowing?” Dipper tried again.

“Spot on!” Bill snapped his fingers.

“But why would anyone want it to snow in June? It doesn’t change the actual season, or position of the moon or sun in regards to earth, it’s just the difference of _weather_ …”

Bill offered nothing.

“A different question then, yeah?” Dipper said, scratching his chin. He probably could use a shave.

“Why’d your deal maker throw you into a human body?”

“Well, ain’t that the million dollar question? I’d say it’s because he knew I was intentionally apathetic towards human beings more than most meat sacks, and I’m especially loathe to be forced into the body alike the two humans that did me in,” He huffed out, “But somehow, I don’t think that’s it.” Bill sucked in the breath he just exhaled. “Realistically, humans are one of the weakest things on the planet. Cockroaches? Decapitation is nothing new. They live until they starve to death, that’s pretty straight-forward. Humans? Feed ‘em the wrong kinda nut, they swell up and die, know what I mean?”

“I hope you know that’s not all of the population,” Dipper interjected.

“On the other phalanged-limb,” Bill starts again. “You guys put up a good fight! Break your mind, soul, and most of your body, and you’re A-OK! Couldn’t ask for more resilience if you put titanium around a tennis ball.” Bill puffed out another breath. In, then out again. “Course, that means he could toss me through the meat grinder and expect me to come out the same as I went in,”

“And that’s exactly what he did,” Dipper said, in a hushed voice. Bill winced, and rubbed at his neck. “Why’d you agree to it anyway? Assuming deals work both ways, you have to be a willing party too.”

Bill’s expression melted away, the lack of unadulterated glee leaving behind two tired eyes. “Let’s just say I was between a rock and a hard place.” It was Dipper’s turn to blow out the breath he was holding. He chewed on his lip, and tapped his fingers against the bedframe. “What,” Bill said, more a command than anything.

“How many deals can you juggle at once?” Dipper asked slowly, a creeping feeling of unease settling in his gut.

“As many as I can keep track of, unless there are specific terms in one of the deals; why?” Bill said, scratching at his reopened wounds. Dipper slapped his hand away.

“Did those conditions exist this time around?” Dipper asked again, closing his eyes and wondering exactly how much trouble this all would bring.

“They did not.” Bill said, smiling again. “So curious, Pine Tree. Don’t tease me unless you plan on following through.”

Dipper said nothing, stood, and walked out of the room, letting the door click shut behind him.


	3. Nothing Good Ever Happens in the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Be cautious if you're easily disturbed through descriptions of gore. It's pretty much throughout it. If you want to skip it and head on out to the next chapter, I'll leave a summary at the end, in the chapter notes.

He walked out of the house, and ran into the forest. The scent of his own home threatened to choke him, the sting of medical supplies foreign, and mixing distastefully with the smell of hot glue and antiques. He noticed how small the room had felt one he could breath outside, and felt his chest release de-constrict. He shuffled his feet across the forest floor, trying to avoid loosened, frozen branches. The sudden flow of oxygen, pumped with every pulsation of his overactive heart, and made him dizzy. He grasped the trunk of a tree and heaved.

  
His vision blurred and splotched, but he could feel underneath his fingertips the rigids of metal that made up the shell of the trunk. The steel pricked cold into his skin, and it seeped down into his spinal cavity and rooted behind his stomach. Behind his eyelids he could remember the aftermath of prongs of stainless steel embedding themselves in his flesh. It was a miracle he could use forks at all anymore.

  
The nightmares didn’t stop for weeks after Bill had used his body as a puppet. Whether it was traumatic or from the dream demon himself didn't matter to Dipper. It terrified him, and his shot sleep schedule, either way. Dipper would fall asleep to the sound of his sister’s breathing, and awake in the nightmarescape to the sound of the _tink tink tink_ of his own teeth hitting the drain in the sink. He’d choke on his own mixture of blood and spit, unable to scream, unable to do anything but watch as his molars fall out of his mouth. His tongue lolled about his mouth, suddenly not fitting right once its resting place against the back of the front teeth had fallen into Dipper’s hands. Upon waking up, he found each tooth replaced, and a lost appetite.

  
Dipper, now, had to remind himself to breath. In and out, faster than he’d like, but at least it was something. He clawed at the metal trunk as tears clouded his vision and streaked down his face. He could taste his bile in the back of his throat, but he swallowed the bitter taste down, pleading with himself to keep his stomach acid where it belonged.

  
He imagined Bill, as unlikely as it was with his injuries, coming up behind him and laughing at how pathetic he looked. There would be no way Dipper could deny what was happening, how Bill left him utterly wrecked. He hated it. Swallowing another wave of nausea, he gulped in a breath of forest and immediately retched again.

  
It was the _smell_ , the smell of something dead. He could smell it through the frost and the cold, as clear as if it had been rotting in the summer heat. Lifting his head from under his knees, he pushed off the tree and stumbled. His stomach turned and his skin crawled, but Dipper dragged his stiff legs towards the smell. He felt the shaking start in his legs as he walked. Tripping as he walked, he moved almost blindly, trembling as the smell grew more pungent. Moved by some masochistic purpose, he limped faster, ignoring the tears streaming down his face and the moans of pure illness that he could hear but couldn't feel leave his mouth. The tremors crept up his flesh into his torso, shaking him until he was numb to the cold, and all he could feel was the smell of the decomposing body dumped unceremoniously into the undergrowth creeping across it, and under Dipper’s feet.

  
It smelled sweet and strong, like cheap perfume and rotting meat. Putrid, and cold. He could place it before he came upon the rotten, maggot-ridden corpse, even though he had never seen someone dead before. Dead monsters didn’t smell like this, didn’t smell this bad.

  
His eyes scraped along the mass of decomposition, and trailed his line of sight up to the woods stretched before him.

  
The bodies lay in a line. Each with similar swollen, blue faces and lips, and half-eaten eyes. They were scattered, but purposefully placed. There was enough space given for each body to be admired without interruption from the other victims, but not too much space to forget in between. Some with hollow skulls and rotting brain matter, black blood staining the moss, emulating and preserving how blood and life poured out of a living body. Others, with intestines torn out and tangled around their limbs, wrapping them in red scarves, no use against the cold. A few were disembodied, limbs--if not broken at sick angles, with bones fragments protruding or exposed-- were missing, either ripped raggedly, or cut cleanly, but never too far off from the body. Every head, that wasn’t misplaced, was tilted at an odd enough angle that they looked more like dolls, with hanging mouths and painted eyes. Some looked to have been stabbed several times, puss oozing out with congealed blood. The stab victims were by far the most peaceful, none looking surprised. 

  
Everything was as it had died, the foxes nor the ravens had stirred from the hold of a fabricated winter to feast. The insects that had lived and reproduced lived, buried themselves within the bodies made of sinew and flesh.

  
Dipper couldn’t help it. He vomited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For y'all who just wanted to know what happened w/o the nitty gritty:  
> Dipper runs out of the house to clear his head from all this Maj. Bullshit, and has-essentially- a panic attack with sides of intense nausea triggered by the memories of being possessed. He recalls some nightmares during this time, unsure whether they've been prompted by Bill's possession in a traumatic way or by Bill himself. After that subsides, he realizes he can smell something fowl, and goes to follow it. He stumbles upon a trail of bodies, and promptly vomits.


	4. A Chapter in Biochemistry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Going more into Dipper's possibly trauma induced anxiety this chapter. Also, the boys are warming up to each other.

“Alright,” Stan said, patting Dipper’s back. “Alright, kid. Calm down.” Dipper wasn’t trying to hyperventilate, but his body thought it was reasonable enough. He looked up at his Grunkle, who with harsh words and a concerned face, broke his composure. He couldn’t help it, the panic bubbled up inside him and ran down his face, hot and salty. He gulped as Mabel reached for his hand, thankful for the contact, but too proud to do much else except open his palm when she slid her fingers through his.

“They-” Dipper started, until a strangled cry cracked through instead, and he clamped his jaw shut. 

“Hush,” Mabel said, “Stan’s going to look, you don’t have to say anything else about it, kay?” Dipper nodded miserably and buried his face in her hair. The door slammed shut, and everything but Dipper’s sobs stilled.

They missed the creaking of the stairs, and failed to notice the lock to the attic door click. The fact that Bill could sneak up on them was a inhuman feat in itself, but it was less than surprising. Mabel said nothing as the blonde boy limped over to a corner of the room, his back facing the wall. She glared in his direction, one hand keeping Dipper’s head secured against her shoulder, the other clenched tightly in his. Dipper bristled and tilted his head up, barely able to see through his puffy eyelids. His hand slipped out of Mabel’s, and his composer more worn as he stood up straight. Bill walked straight to him, the bastard dressed in Dipper’s clothes, and swiped the boy’s bangs aside with a shaking hand. Dipper slapped his hand away.

“Don’t touch me.”

Bill didn’t flash his trademark grin, nor did he set upon Dipper with a demon’s glare, but he simply watched. It felt creepier than any maniacal laugher or gory trick. “Don’t be afraid,” Bill said, his meaning as unclear as his intentions, “I won’t hurt you,”

“Like hell!” Mabel growled, her hand fastened on his stitched arms, nails threatening to rip open the new skin. 

“I couldn’t if I wanted to,” He said, looking disdainfully on Mabel, “And trust me, I do.” 

“Would you be surprised if I called Grade-A Bullshit on that one?” Dipper croaked out. 

“Believe me, kid, I can hold a grudge,” He snapped, “but I mean it, I can’t,” 

“Bet you can’t tell us why, either,” Dipper said. 

“You got that right,”

“So we’re just supposed to believe you? Like, I’m just supposed to let you go all ‘Simbaaaaa’ on my brother and pretend you didn’t come back to kill us?” Mabel ground out, arms crossed against her chest. “That’s insane!” 

Instead of answering, he turned to Dipper. “I know what you saw out there-”

“Hey!” Mabel said, shoving his shoulder so they were nose-to-nose, a finger pointed to Bill’s chest. “You didn’t answer me! Dipper saved you, Stan stitched you up, and I’ve played nurse everyday until you could get up and walk to the bathroom by yourself! We don’t owe you anything, bub. So give me one good reason why I should give you one. More. Minute. of my time!” 

“You need me,” He said evenly, his eyes boring into hers.

“Bullshit,” Came Dipper’s rasping voice. Mabel cocked an eyebrow, but said nothing.

“And as much as it pains me to admit, I need you two,” Bill said, after what seemed like a few heartbeats of weighing the words on his tongue. “You’re uncles’ assistance would hurt either.”

“Grunkles.” Mabel corrected.

“Ford’s not home right now, and Stan barely wants you here as is.” Dipper said, silently hoping that Bill wouldn’t push his luck. Maybe it’d be to Dipper’s benefit if Stan did kick Bill out on his ass. After contemplating it, Dipper found that he hardly cared; he wanted answers first and foremost.

Bill lowered his head. “So I’m stuck with you two idiots,” he said, not a trace of emotion in his tone.

“Trust me, it won’t be for long.” Mabel said, not bothering to sound pleased at all. Dipper felt her grip around him tighten, and as much as he wanted to lean into it, he nudged her off. She straightened, and without a word, stalked off through the door. 

“Alone again, are we?” Bill said, his gleeful smile back in place. Dipper didn’t look up. “Sheesh kid, never seen a dead body before?” 

“No, actually,” 

“You’ll get used to it,” Bill said, nonchalant, and shrugged. “What’d it look like?”

“They,” 

“There was more than one?” Bill said, something shining in his eyes.

“About a dozen,” Dipper said. “They were-”

“How’d they die?” Bill interrupted, enthralled. “Were they were skinned? Disembodied? Left half alive to bleed to death?” He titled Dipper’s head upwards with one hand and looked him in the eye when he got no response from the boy. Bill’s smile dropped into a frown as he wiped a tear from Dipper’s eye. “Why are you crying?” 

Dipper rubbed his eyes with his already wet sleeve and pushed Bill’s hand’s away. Again. He shook his head and asked, “Who were they?”

Bill shrugged, “Does it matter?” Dipper just stared back at him. He wanted to tell him Yes, of course it matters, but he just couldn’t get the words out. “I don’t know anyway. I know as much as you do, except for the trillions of years of near omnipotence. But as for events that happened this last week, I know as much as you do.” 

Dipper choked, “So many people-” he managed to swallow some air and continue, “So many people are dead,” Bill said nothing, but stared at Dipper’s dripping eyes with a baffled look on his face. “I-” He tried to speak but threw a hand to his mouth before he started to sob again. Bill grabbed onto Dipper’s hand, harshly and abruptly. Dipper inhaled quickly but didn’t pull away. He peaked a look at Bill, too flustered to say anything. 

Bill’s expression had only changed slightly. Confusion was read clearly on his face, but in his features Dipper saw a flicker of determination that wasn’t there before. Dipper felt his face flush red, realizing that Bill didn’t understand the implications of holding hands. Dipper let his hand go slack in Bill’s grip. “What? Mabel did it,” Bill pointed out. “You calmed down when she did.”

“Mabel’s my sister,” Dipper said, unable to look away from Bill’s healing scars. 

“So?”

“So,” Dipper swallowed. “People don’t do this,” 

“You aren’t pulling away,” He wasn’t. “And you can breathe now! How’s about that?” He gulped down some air, just to make sure that he could. “How does this work?” Bill asked, gesturing to their joined hands.

“How does what work?” The vague gesture really didn’t clarify much. 

“You’re in an extreme amount of mental anguish, why does this help?” 

“I’m not-” Dipper started. He paused and tried again, “I don’t know if everyone’s like this.” Bill said nothing, expecting elaboration. Dipper tried to form the next sentence in his head, but his face felt hot and he couldn’t string his thoughts together. He slid his hand out of Bill’s. He said nothing, but tugged as Dipper’s hand left his, and frowned when he still pulled away.

“My head doesn’t work like,” Dipper swallowed. “Like other people’s. I don’t mean I’m smarter, or that I’m special. I have a lower level of Serotonin, which increases my levels of anxiety. It’s manageable most days, but Mabel knows that I still can’t always avoid panic attacks. Over the last years, she’s noticed I calm down quicker when she’s hugging me or holding my hand. No one else has tried it though.” 

Bill chewed over this for a minute, clearly unsure of what to say. “I meant it when I said I can’t hurt you.” Dipper laughed, relieved that he accepted his explanation, but amused by his brash response.

“Would you want to?” Dipper said, knowing he only gave Bill more to hurt him with. He knew what that meant, and understood it was in Bill’s nature to exploit everything he gave him.

Bill hesitated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for sticking with me this far! I know updates have been touch and go, but hopefully I can write throughout my thanksgiving break!


	5. Deja Vu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dipper sneaks out.

“The hell do you think you’re going,” Stan called out. Dipper turned around, his hand frozen on the latch on the screen to the backdoor. It looked bad anyway you looked at it, Dipper was fully dressed-in jeans and a coat, flashlight in hand-while his Grunkle stood behind him, dressed for bed and fully ready to follow Dipper out the door.

“I’ve been in the woods at night before,” Dipper pointed out. It was no use lying anyway.

“Not tonight, bucko,” Stan said, large arms crossed over a sinking chest. “We have no idea what’s out there.” 

“Exactly, that’s why-”

“That’s why you’re staying in, you hear me?” Stan said, cutting Dipper off abruptly. His eyes, marked by blue bruises and crows’ feet, stared right through the young man in front of him. After a long heartbeat, he let out a breath, his composure collapsing. “You know I’ve never treated you like the kid you were, and I’m sure ain’t startin’ now, but,” Stan glanced over at Dipper. “You can’t leave without telling your sister.” 

Dipper opened his mouth to say something, but Stan looked at him in utter resignation, and he saw what Stan meant. If anything happened to him, Stan would be the one to tell Mable that Dipper left without saying goodbye. 

He soon found himself outside his sister’s door, hand posed to knock. He barely tapped the wood, when the hinges creaked and the door swung open. Mabel sat on her bed, the sleeves of her pastel-pink sweater rolled up to her elbows as she used her wrists as a canvas for her eyeshadow. 

“Hey bro-bro!” She said, plopping her brushes down and grinning. “What’s up? You going out too? No wonder you’ve been so happy lately, but you could have at least told me you got a date!” 

Dipper choked, “Mabel, I’m not-” 

She waved her hand, “I’m kidding! You’re about as romantic as dirt. Besides, that’s why you have me,” She said, picking up her brush and starting again.

“You’re out to Pacifica’s again?” 

“Yep!” She said, and sparing a glance in Dipper’s direction, scoffed. “Don’t give me that look, you know this is the only time of the year we can hang out!” 

“But why do you need makeup? Don’t you just hang out in her lavish mansion being fed grapes by scantily clothed men?” 

“I still want to look good for the servant-boys, Dipper.” She looked over at her brother again, flashing a cheeky grin. 

“It’s good to see you having fun with her,” Dipper admitted. “I know I said I don’t like her, and I don’t, but she makes you happy.” Mabel said nothing, but set her gaze to her miss-matched socks, and pursed her lips. “I’m glad you have her.” Mabel stays silent. “She still doesn’t deserve you though,” 

“Dipper!” Mabel scolds, wacking his arm with her hair brush. She gives him a once over and sighs. “You’re going to go looking, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Dipper says, wishing he had more to say to her, some kind of comfort to give her.

“Be careful.” She says.

“Don’t worry.” He replies. 

She pulls him into a brief hug, and lets go. She doesn’t watch him as he leaves the room.

When he slips out into the night, he isn’t grateful for the lack of company. In fact, he feels a craving for it. Not for his sister, or his uncles, but for someone. It frustrates him that he doesn’t understand his own vague urges, but he shoves it aside and trudges through a shanty excuse of a hiking trail. Brambles catch his jeans and scratch at his calves, but he ignores the feeling of bleeding and instead focuses on any sort of movement he can catch in his line of vision. So far, he’s seen nothing but frightened rabbits, and gnomes. 

When Dipper was a child, he swore the forests around his house changed at night. Somehow, the deep wood seemed more treacherous, the shadows they cast looming in the night with more sinister intention. Dipper feared the woods and how the moonlight broke and hung high on the branches of dead trees like corpses. He wouldn’t camp out in them, no matter how hard his Father pleaded with him to. It seems silly to him now, being afraid of woods so mundane and forgettable, when he knew now which ones heeded real caution. 

Like this one, he remembers. The sharp tang of fresh blood creeps up on him. Whipping his head around, sniffing wildly, he tries to locate the scent, and the source of it. Someone groans, and moves closer. A very familiar scene plays out before his eyes.

Bill is lying in a patch of grass between two bushes, his ankle twisted, and his cheekbone swollen and bruised. Mud mats his light hair, and frames the burning anger in his dark eyes. 

“Deja vu,” Bill mutters.

“Now you’re just doing this on purpose,” Dipper says, crossing his arms and trying to keep himself from smiling. 

Bill grins, and despite everything, Dipper secretly finds it charming. He doesn’t say that, though.

“I think it’s dislocated.” Is what he says instead, gesturing to the boy’s ankle. Bill ignores what Dipper just said and tries to stand anyway, He winces badly and his knees buckle, Dipper catching him barely before he hits the forest floor. “Don’t try to walk.”

“Well, can’t you fix it?” Bill snaps as Dipper drops to the ground next to him.

Dipper puffs out a breath of air. “Not at night. I’m too afraid I’d set it wrong.” 

“Useless human bodies.” Bill groans. “Always breaking, always cold.” 

“Are you cold?” Dipper asks. He’d be amazed if he wasn’t, the snow still hasn’t melted off the tree branches.

“No.”

“Do you want my jacket?”

“Maybe.”

Dipper wraps his flannel around Bill. The boys both shiver, as their hair and clothes are damp. Bill scoots closer to Dipper, and he welcomes the new body warmth. 

“Why’d you come out here?” Dipper asks. He hadn’t been on house arrest, exactly, but it’s surprising that he managed to leave without alerting anyone. Dipper sure couldn’t say the same.

“I didn’t exactly want to,” Bill said.

“Did you not have a choice?”

Bill shook his head, “More details on the deal made by the devil himself.”

“You or the other party?” Dipper asked, confused as to whom was the devil. Bill just laughs. His head falls halfway between the crook of Dipper’s neck and his chest. The feathery blond swatches of hair tickle his face, but he can only really focus on his rapid heart beat. One that shouldn’t stutter the way it does with a demon on his chest. He wants to pretend that it’s out of fear, but he knows he’d be lying to himself.

There’s a slight twinge of worry he harbors for the other boy, injured and unused to his body. The anxiety he feels is quickly drowned out by the heat in his face and warmth in his gut.

Bill tilts his head up, his breath misting and warming the side of Dipper’s face. Dipper can see that his lips are chapped, and the scar tissue around his eye is puckered and purple from the cold. He drags his thumb along the healing skin, feeling Bill's eyelashes flutter. He wishes for a moment that Bill would tilt his head up just a tad bit father. 

Instead, he buries his face into Dipper’s collar and says, “This is...new,”

“What?” Dipper asks, distracted. “Being close to someone?”

Bill nods. “It’s nice,” He drags his hand up to clutch at Dipper’s chest. The way he’s twisting, Dipper wonders if it’s uncomfortable. He nudges in closer to Bill, as if to let him know that he can move if he wants. Swinging his good leg up, and dragging his bad one after, he settles against Dipper’s chest, and partially in his lap. The other boys laughs, light, and almost deliriously. Dipper swallows hard, trying to keep the heat in his chest down, and not let it ache too bad.

Dipper wants to say that this is new for him too, that he’s never found someone to do this with.

Dipper wants to say that his heart is pounding and they should stop.

Dipper wants to say he wants Bill to kiss him.

Dipper wants to say something, but before he figures out what, Bill falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry ive been so lax on updating! I swear I'll be better!!


	6. Ruam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet the dealmaker.

Dipper sits quiet, relishing the moment. It's a lull, one he’s full aware of, but he can’t bring himself to care. He knows it will end at any moment, so instead of pushing Bill away, he indulges himself, if only for a minute. 

Bill’s skin sits like ivory when he sleeps, his scars and wounds engravings. His face, once terribly fearful, crazed and manic, is at peace. There’s a ghost of a smile on the demon’s lips, playing with something in Dipper’s ribcage. His lips are pink and parted only slightly, and puffs of warm air hit Dipper’s collar and neck, leaving his skin colder after a second. 

He images what it would be like in a different plane of reality, where Bill was just another boy, and so was he. No dream demons, or monsters, or mysteries. Even without all the excitement, Dipper ached for it, for the mundane sort of feeling he knew he could never have for someone else, someone normal. They may have been school friends in another life, or rivals from childhood.

He knew, in this other world, Bill never would have gotten so hurt, so badly wounded. Dipper traces the scarred skin that starts above his nose bridge, coming down over his left eye, curving down his cheek and neck until both the scar and the hand fall underneath the boy’s shirt collar. Holding his hand there for a moment, he feels Bill’s heartbeat, slow, but strong. 

He nearly jumps out of his skin when Bill’s eyelashes flutter open. Before he has time to react Bill has Dipper’s wrist in his grip, tight and menacing. 

“Bill, I-Fuck, I didn’t  _ mean _ -” Dipper starts, and then Bill clamps a hand to his mouth. 

“ _ Quiet _ ,” He hisses. In a second, his eyes change, growing wide with fear. He’s a stiff as a board, and so,  _ so  _ close. 

Then Dipper hears it, faint, but just barely there. A mix of rustling and limping, through the undergrowth. It stops for a second, shifting in place and moans, a low guttural sound. It sounded both human and animalistic, and full of pain.

Dipper moves Bill’s hand and mouths,  _ What is that? _

Bill mouths back,  _ Deal Maker. _

The sounds of the creature moving, become sharper. As it becomes louder, Dipper realizes it’s not a sound of limping, but  _ dragging. _

_ You need to hide, _ Bill mouths. 

Dipper shakes his head and stiffens, but Bill is already pushing him into the nearest bush. 

“I can fight,” Dipper whispers. 

Bill shakes his head. He grabs Dipper’s hand and squeezes it briefly. “Stay here,” He whispers back. Rushing back out into the open forest, he stumbles and falls. Dipper wants to reach out, lift him up, but a chilling laughter freezes him to the spot. 

“So proud, Cipher,” They caw, “Is this what you’ve been reduced to,” They cock one eye at Bill, the lusterless beak turning with it. 

“You know very well what you’ve made me into, Raum” He says, without his usual bravado. It makes him feel smaller than he is, especially next to this creature, feathers made of midnight, wings longer than tree branches.

“I’ve brought you food,” They say, and drag a corpse-- no, not a corpse, Dipper realizes, someone unconscious--in front of Bill. He doesn’t sway or blanch, but simply stares at the creature.“But you won’t feed, demon.” He says nothing, but doesn’t lower his gaze. “You can only go so long without feeding, Cipher. Do not think I will not make use of you if you neglect yourself. You will burn out under my orders, and this will be the last deal you make.”

“I will not have another demon hunt for me,” Bill says, and it chills Dipper to the core.  _ Hunt? _

“Then starve.” Then the creatures eye flick to Dipper’s, steady and unmoving, and they say, “Or let your human pet feed you.” And then they turn away, slowly making their way back into the depths of the forest, dragging long, ragged tail feathers like a widow’s bridal train. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i may be posting shorter chapters more frequently. honestly, its a lot easier on me


	7. Dislocated Ankles and Broken Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More dialogue. Blah blah blah

“What _was_ that, Bill?” Dipper hissed, crouching among the undergrowth, his eyes glued to the trees where the creature disappeared.

Bill just shook his head, “Ruam,” he said, spitting the name out like it sat bitter on his tongue. “Nasty piece of work. If he hadn’t drained me so much, he be nothing more than dust on top of his own feeding grounds.”

“I thought humans were the only ones who could make deals,” Dipper said, trying to not to focus on his stomach churning.

Bill barked out a dry laugh, “That’s pretty narcissistic, don’t ya think? No, other creatures can make deals, as long as they’re sentient and can hold up their end of the bargain.” A shadow crosses his face, “But demons try not to make business with each other, it’s not a good sign that Ruam is coming back now.”

“You knew him before, then,” Dipper points out.

“You could say that,” Bill sighed. He peers over the treetops to where the moon broke over the horizon, trying to stand. Dipper stretches out his arm and Bill takes it begrudgingly, unable to stand on his right leg at all. “Let’s play ‘Lot’s of Short-sighted Questions’ at home, yeah?”

“I don’t think that’s-” Dipper shakes his head, “Maybe you’ll be nicer after some painkillers.”

“I’d be nice after any kind of killing,” Bill says.

  


It’s midnight when they hobble back into the mystery shack. Mabel is gone, but Stan sees them come in through the door, but doesn’t say much, just claps Dipper on the back and watches Dipper carry Bill up to the attic.

“I could have walked.” Bill complains as Dipper sets him on the bed.

“Take two of these,” Dipper says instead of answering, tossing a bottle of pills to Bill. He rustles around his room, until he comes up with two acceptable splint pieces and medical tape. It doesn’t take too long considering he’s had to bandage himself up several times; and Mabel even more.

Dipper gets to work. He sets Bill’s ankle--almost too easily, Bill’s pain tolerance is a wonder and frightening at the same time. He works wrapping the splints around it to keep in place. Bill brushes the hair out of Dipper’s face, his eyebrows furrowed.

“What’s that face for?” Bill asks.

Dipper hadn’t realized he had been chewing at his bottom lip, his eyes turned downward toward the other’s injury. He drops his face into a frown, hoping he looks more at ease than he feels. “I’m worried, Bill.”

“I’m sure shooting star’s alright. Probably,” Bill says, not exactly comforting, but it was improvement.

Dipper glances up at Bill. “I’m...not worried about Mabel. Bill, I’m worried about _you_.”

Bill laughs, “You _hate_ me.”

Dipper doesn’t say anything back, not at first. “Ruam said you weren’t feeding,”

“You really are worried?” Bill asked quietly. Dipper nods. “No, I’m not.”

“What do you…” Dipper started, “Eat, exactly?”

“Nightmares.”

“Oh,” Dipper says. “That’s what he meant,”

“What?” Bill asks.

“Ruam said I could feed you,” Dipper clarifies, assuming Ruam meant he was the human pet. “Why aren’t you…taking Ruam’s prey?”

“It’s insulting,” Bill spits.

“But, don’t you need it?” Dipper asks anyway. Bill says nothing. “I’d do it, you know.”

Bill eyes him quizzically. “It’s not exactly fun, Dipper.”

“That’s the first time you’ve said my name.” Bill drops his eyes. “I mean that. If it’s going to help us out, I would do it.”

“ _No_ ,” Bill forces out the words, pushing Dipper away.

“Why not?” Dipper demands in turn, grabbing on to Bill’s arm. Bill tugs it away from him fiercely. “I can’t sleep without nightmares anyway. _And_ I’ve had nightmares about you. What makes this different?”

“It’s not the same.” Bill hisses. “I could have done it then, sure, but now? Not a chance.”

“What makes this different?” Dipper asks, trying to look past the anger in the other boy’s eyes.

“I _can’t_ hurt you.” Bill looks straight at Dipper. “I can’t.”

Dipper pulls away. “You can. I’d let you,”

Bill sighs and mutters. “No.”  Dipper doesn’t push anymore, seeing the pale parlor of Bill’s face, and the beading of sweat gathering at his brow.

“Try to sleep, okay?” Dipper says, dropping into the adjacent bed. Bill says nothing, but nods.

 

When Dipper gasps awake two hours later, his throat is sore from screaming. He claws at his abdomen, feeling the unscathed skin there, and telling himself “It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real.” But he remembers being cut open so vividly, his intestines being clawed out as everything _burned_. He sobs, feeling the remnants of pain wash over him, completely mental, but not entirely unreal to him.

He doesn’t realize when Bill crawls out of Mabel’s bed, but suddenly he’s there, holding onto Dipper tightly. Squeezing his hand, he mumbles into his neck. “It’s not real, Dipper, _this_ is real.”

Dipper’s sobs slowed and then stilled, feeling the warmth of the other boy against his back. He starts to breath easy, but he still hiccups as Bill says, “This is why I can’t let you do this. I can’t be the reason this happens.” Dipper sniffs, and buries his face into Bill’s chest. The boys fall asleep, pressed together, the exhaustion finally leaving as they slip into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, trying to post more!!!


	8. Ruam and Rooftops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dipper wakes up with no sign of the boy he spent the night with.

The third summer after Bill had come and gone, Dipper kept searching. He was worn out, exhausted from a year of school and grew ever more weary of his fruitless book research and field work. As hopeless as it seemed, he could never find it in himself to stop looking. He hiked all the same trails, and tripped through brambles and bushes where there was no path, desperate to find anything. He would come up with more theories and less proof each time, stumbling into the Mystery Shack covered and mud and trembling from head to toe. Mabel would lay his clean clothes on his bed after every long shower, seeming to say  _ You’ll have to give this up at some point, but I will understand if you never do. _

Sometime during the last week of summer, he braved the harsh summer heat in the dead of the forest, clothes sticking to his frame as he moved around the statue of Bill. For the fifth day in the row, he wandered elliptically, trying to find a pattern in the circle of mushrooms that had sprouted a week previous. He threw himself down in the moss next to the statue out of pure frustration, and groaned into his hands.

“You’re not coming back, are you?” He asked. Bill said nothing. “Nothing that I’ve done really matters, because you’re not coming back.” He knocked one fist against the side of the statue, more out of anger than destructive curiosity. 

He stormed into his shared bedroom that night, his hand hurting and his head pounding. He tried his damndest to keep the puffiness out of his eyes, and yet it stayed, alongside a tint of red rimming his waterline. 

“Rough night?” Mabel said, not looking up from her book. Dipper nodded. “Come ’ere bro-bro,” She called out, waving an outstretched arm in her brother’s direction. He takes this as an opportunity to hug her close, silently appreciating that his sister was always an affectionate person. Unlike himself, usually, but tonight he needed to feel another person breathing at that moment more than anything.

He inhaled deeply. She smelled like Elmer’s glue and libraries, and like always, of home. A rock and an anchor, she held him steady as he broke piece by piece in her arms. It may have been that the days were chipping away at something at his core, and tonight was the night he shattered. Or maybe he was so fragile that he couldn’t stand the pressure to begin with. Either way, Mabel let him break. She sits quietly, not telling him it will take ten times as long to put himself back together than it did to fall apart. She does not say,  _ You do not have time to be broken. _ She does not say anything at all, as she doesn’t need to. She holds him, and Dipper breaks and comes together beside her. 

“Mabel,” He starts, voice hoarse, “Why am I still looking?” She pulls away from him, smiling sadly as her hand squeezes his.

The third week since the first snowfall, a near two years later, Dipper wakes up alone. He wakes up to cold sheets and a blanket tossed back, and no sign of the blond boy who spent the night in Dipper’s arms. Dipper feels sick, wishing he hadn’t assumed anything. _ It’s not like Bill could feel anything like that, anyway. _ He thinks, a slithery mass curling in his stomach. So he throws the covers off of him, and stretches the chill out of his legs as best he can.

The day passes slowly, as if molasses replaced the sand in an hourglass. He reads up on his circumstances as best he can, his researched hindered by the lack of wifi in this, almost literally, godforsaken town. 

Ruam is a relatively powerful demon, he finds out. Known as a kidnapper and a thief to kings, destroyer of cities and dignities of men. Dipper finds it hard to place where Bill fits in to the picture, besides razing cities (Or near desolate towns, in this case). Both are south-aligned fire demons, so Ruam’s blizzard makes increasing less sense as Dipper looks into it. The more he reads, and sketches the demon’s jet black figure, the more frustrated he gets. As the sun sets, he starts to feel less at rest than ever. 

He stands, pushes in his chair, and walks to the window. Crawling on top of the roof, he settles on the shifting shingles and breathes in the Oregon air. He gulps it and feels it burn in his lungs, sharp and cold, and the pounding in his skull subsides. 

The last thing his texts mentioned was the notion of Ruam’s omnipotence of past, present, and future events. He pushed the flesh of his palms into his eyes and exhaled. How was he supposed to formulate  _ any _ kind of plan against someone who knew everything? Here he was now, wishing that Bill had a fraction of his previous power,  _ anything  _ really that they could use. 

But he was starving himself. Hungry and broken, Bill couldn’t do much of anything. He refused help from both his deal maker,  _ and  _ Dipper. Ruam was right; if Bill couldn’t find some way to feed, he’d burn out. Dipper wants more than anything to help, and he knows that once he gathers up the courage, he won’t take no for an answer, but he hadn’t even  _ seen _ him today. Bill was probably avoiding him because of last night, because he pushed too hard. His stomach crawled into his throat and he tried to breathe. Breathe, and not think about his empty bed. Breathe, and not vomit. 

Dipper stilled himself, listening to the wind, interrupted only by his bedroom door clicking shut. He could tell through the hesitant shifts on creaking wood that it was Bill. He stumbled to the window, and froze like a deer when he saw Dipper on the roof. 

“Hi,” He said, his head hanging down and his manner uncharacteristically small.

“Hey,”

Bill scratched at the still healing skin on his neck, tilting his face away from Dipper, “Can I come up?”

Dipper cocked an eyebrow but nodded, trying to remember the last time Bill had asked permission for anything. Bill tried his damndest to climb up by himself, but Dipper ended up pulling him up a part of the way, dismissing the embarrassed flush of red on the blond’s cheeks. Bill scrambled on the roofing, sitting rigidly and digging his nails into the material under him. He stared down at the ground like he might be sick.

“I hate existing in a physical form.” Bill spat, brown eyes wide. Dipper agreed.

“I can’t believe you’re afraid of heights,” Dipper said, trying for a light tone, but his voice caught around the knot of anxiety sitting high in his throat. Bill whips his head around to retort.

“Well  _ of course _ , falling is a reasonable fear! Extremely primal, very understandable,” He grumbles. Dipper just gapes. “What?”

“Bill…” Dipper says, staring at the right side of Bill’s face. He’s sporting new bruises on top of old ones, on top of scars. Bill cups a hand to his face, hiding the black and yellow skin, and shifts away. 

“How long is he going to hurt you like that?” Dipper asks softly, and despite the pull in his gut, he brings his hand to cup over Bills. 

Bill shrugs, “I can take it,” Dipper worries at his lower lip. “Stop that.” He snaps.

Dipper yanks his hand away, and mutters a quick, “Sorry,” 

“No, I-” Bill rakes a hand through his hair. “Dipper, don’t worry.”

“I do,” He says, voice shaking. “I can’t help but worry about you,”

Bill’s expression softens as he looks at Dipper. “You can’t do anything,”

“I can,” Dipper cries, tears streaming down his face. “You won’t  _ let me _ .” He presses the palm of his hand hard into his eye socket, and tries to focus on breathing. 

“Dipper, I-”

“Why won’t you let me? You let me patch you up when you’re hurt, don’t you?” Dipper stutters out, hiccupping.

“It’s different,” 

“You  _ know  _ I have nightmares anyway. You were there last night.”

“I know,” Bill says, quiet.

Dipper grabs Bills hand and squeezes. “Let me do this,” He says, his voice quivering, but holding firm.

“Can I think about it?” Bill asks. Dipper nods, letting his head fall onto Bill’s shoulder. His chest still shudders, and as Bill pulls his hand out of Dipper’s, Dipper thinks that maybe he assumed too much. But instead of pushing away from Dipper, Bill wraps his now free arm around his shoulders, and Dipper crumbles right then and there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoy! I'm thinking I'll post these with less editing time attached, and once everything comes together, I'll do the tweaking.


	9. Of all the Gods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're finally earning that M rating folks. Also theres some gory bits in this chapter, so for the faint of heart, you might wanna skip down to the summary below.

Dipper wondered how long Bill had been alive. How many stars he had seen rise from the corpses of suns. How many centuries of beings he had seen engaged in war. How many rising civilizations that peaked, only to be crushed underneath the foundations being laid for the next empire. Had he seen Egypt, and Greece, and Rome, the people before them? Did he know what came before the Earth, before the Sun known to this solar system? 

It surprised Dipper how young Bill looked, his eyes set on the horizon, amber turned near-gold with the sun’s reflection painted in them. His skin, though scarred and bruised, still glowed like bronze. Bill turned to him, a smile playing on his lips, and Dipper felt like he’d been dunked in cold water. The air rushed out of him, and it took everything in him to rip his eyes from the Bill’s pink mouth. The boy said something, what it was, Dipper didn’t hear, and went to cup Dipper’s face. Dipper slid his hand overtop and held onto it tightly, wishing that he could stay here for just a minute longer. Bill cocked his head, as if he expected an answer, and laughed when Dipper offered none. Shaking his head, the blond leaned in.

His mouth hit Dipper’s like snow hit the ground. Impossibly soft, and colder than expected. Bill exhaled into Dipper’s mouth, and the lost heat pooled somewhere in the brunet’s stomach. Aching to be closer, he tosses his arms around Bill’s neck, his fingertips pressing into cool skin. Dipper couldn't think through the cloud in his head or the white-hot fire in his gut, but he knew he wanted more than just this. Dipper pushed as far as he could, getting as close as he could to Bill. It came as no surprise to him that Bill matched him in all of his efforts.

The light fingertips he had pressed into Bill's neck were now digging into the same skin, trying to grab hold on something to satiate his need for closeness. He felt himself gasp, and Bill smiled into his open mouth. Trying to regain himself, Dipper dug his nails deeper into Bill, feeling proud of the shiver that ran down the other boy's back. Bill's mouth pulled away from his, his glare reminiscent of the sadist that took shelter behind warm eyes. Bill took Dipper by the shoulders, and slammed him down, flat on his back. Dipper couldn't do much but gape as the wind was knocked out of him, and Bill's eyes caught the light. The dull throb from where his spine impacted against the ground was a hum compared to the blaze now awakened in Dipper's chest. Bill dipped in to kiss him, firmly on the mouth, a hand posed just under Dipper's chin. He pulled himself upright as he kept one hand on Dipper's chest, keeping him seated underneath him. He tossed the soft pieces of hair that had fallen into his face, and grinned. He grinned like a feral beast, proud and sure. Dipper didn't mind being prey, he found.   
Bill lowered himself to be chest to chest with the other boy, kissing him once. He tilted Dipper's head away from him, exposing his throat. He settled himself there, kissing softly. He nipped softly at his neck, his mouth moving in a way that could almost be twisted into something loving, as impossible as that seemed. His bit down, earning a shameful noise from Dipper, who tried his hardest to keep quiet, though he didn’t really know why. Bill bit him again, and then kissed softly at the bruised skin. He patterned this from under Dipper's chin, down to the crook of his neck, Bill burying his teeth in the soft skin there. Dipper didn't shy away from the pain, he leaned into it, grabbed at Bill's hair and pushed him down, hoping he would bite him harder. Bill complied, sucking what Dipper knew would be bruises into his neck.

At once, and without warning, Bill tore into his neck harder than before, Dipper crying out in a mixture of surprise and pain. He pushed the other boy off of his chest, finding that when Bill smiled down to him, his mouth was stained red. His teeth, once normal and charming, had sharpened, glinting in a way that made Dipper feel sick. Bill touched a hand to his face, wiping away Dipper's tears, his touch now searing hot. Dipper tried to plead with him, but a strangled cry was the only thing that could leave his throat as Bill leaned in. He kissed away the cries from Dipper’s mouth, and settled himself back down on top of him, his shirt stained with the blood that started to pool at the ground. 

Dipper tried to push him away feebly, but all he could manage was to claw at the other boy, who had seemed to stop caring whether Dipper was enjoying this or not. Bill dug his now-fangs into Dipper again, tearing through flesh and tissue, like a ravage beast. Bill tore out his throat like he was making love, humming and whispering things to Dipper that he couldn't hear over his ringing ears. His pulse bled down to a faint, almost nothingness, as the other boy fed upon him. Dipper said nothing as he tried to accept that this was how he would die, far too trusting of a beast who knew only a language of violence. He ran his fingers through the blond's hair as he closed his eyes, feeling Bill drink the fire from his blood as he turned colder and colder.    


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what the internet gets for teaching me about vore.   
> anyhoo  
> what happens is Bill finally kisses Dipper!!! and then tears out his throat.


	10. In all the Worlds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course, it was all just a nightmare, but is the waking world any better?

Dipper woke up, colder than the night outside. He stilled his pulse by taking inventory of every piece of him that was still intact, a routine he had followed for years. He counted old scars and took note of the ones that should have been there, had the nightmare been real. He felt sicked by what he had dreamed, unsure of where that strange idea had taken root in a small, dark corner of his head. He knew he was predisposed to horrible nightmares, but his own vivid imagination and bloody experiences added to that. This was new though, he noted, as he ran his cold fingers over the clammy skin where Bill had eaten from in his nightmare. He felt himself bristle as the boy he had dreamed of lay across the room from him, his breathing rigid and his spine straight, as the other boy sat up.

  
"I know you're awake," Bill said, hushed. His voice hung in the air for a minute, before he started again. "I'm so sorry, Dipper."  
Dipper couldn't find in himself to answer, feeling again like the prey in the room. He felt like shit, and his skin crawled from the sound of Bill's voice.

  
"Was that you?" Dipper asked.

  
"I'm so sorry, Dipper." Bill whispered, his voice hoarse. "I'm so sorry."

  
_Did you see all of that?_ Dipper wondered, his face flushed with embarrassment. He raised his gaze to Bill's, the other boy refusing to meet his eyes. Dipper knew the answer, he didn't have to ask.

  
He felt an empty pit yawn open in his stomach, his heart plummeting into it. He could deal with nightmares sure, as horrible as these. But having Bill in his head again was too much, he had too much that he himself hadn't figured out.   
"Dipper- please, just, listen to me," Bill pleaded, as another wash of shame came over Dipper, as Bill stood and walked over to him. "I know you said you could handle this," he reached out with one hand, though he stopped short when Dipper flinched, letting his arm fall back to his side. "But I know you can’t," 

"What do you know about me?" Dipper asked, not expecting an answer. It came out sharper than intended, and Bill visibly pulled away. His face a minute ago had been written over with concern, now quieted into something a little more cold. 

"That's not even a question," Bill said, clearly hurt. 

  
"Isn't it? After all these years, you're just going to pretend you somehow found the capacity to care to find things out about me. Or do you just mean from the times you spent in my head?" Dipper snapped. 

  
"Pretending?" Bill snarled. "You're the one to talk about pretending.” Bill started, opening his mouth, and shutting it quickly.

“No,” Dipper said, “Say it.” He stood up, and got in Bill’s face. His face was flushed with anger, and his ears hadn’t stopped buzzing since he woke up.

“It’s not worth it,” Bill said, shoving Dipper aside. “You’re not worth it,”

“Then what does it matter, Bill?” Dipper hissed.

“It doesn’t,” He grounds out through clenched teeth.

“You can’t pretend I don’t matter,” Dipper spits, knowing full well that Bill  _ could _ .

“You’re lying to yourself, Dipper,” Bill snapped. “You're pretending now, pretending you understand me. You couldn’t grasp a damn thing about me if your miserable life depended on it!

“You've made it up in your head that you can make a difference, when after eons and eons, all I've learned is how much none of this will matter. All of it tiny and insignificant, and you don't even have the courage to tell your family that you love boys."   
Dipper sat there, stunned into silence. Of course he knew, he had been in Dipper's head, hadn't he? He let his chest collapse inwards as Bill stared back at him, seeming to have surprised himself. His face passed through phases of bitterness, and then, at seeing the tears gather in the corners of Dipper's eyes, something that looked akin to remorse. But that couldn’t be right.


End file.
